The art of prevailing, as told by an escapee
by Hair pins and needles
Summary: Being a ghoul is more than just the physical attributes. It's a constant state of wariness brought on by the perpetual danger in which we live. My name is Ken Kaneki; resident in the 20th ward, waiter at Anteiku café, and full blooded ghoul.
1. Introduction

**This is something that's been in my head for a while, and after lots of pondering, I have decided to upload it.**

 **Rated M for probable future gore.**

I've always liked categorizing things, placing them in a light under which they can be observed, scrutinized. Simplified, even, some might say, but I prefer to view it more as a way to understand the world as I encounter it. A way to avoid brushing it off, as a clear majority of people tend to do.

I've done it to all sorts of things: from objects to food to animals. When I was a child, my sight was set on toys; I would line them up in neat little rows based on size, color, material, anything I could think of. I could sit on the cold concrete floor for hours at a time, marveling over the infinite possibilities I had before me.

As I grew, and more and more things presented themselves to my hungry mind, I continued cataloguing them in a system of sorts. Soon what begun as a mere hobby turned into a constant mission of discovery. I would notice everything, down to the most minuscule objects around me, and instantly fit them into my, by then, complexly woven net of categorization.

My favorite thing to study, however, was humans.

They, with their infinite individuality, or at least that's what I perceived it as back then, were like a gold mine, a mosaic of unending pieces to be picked up and beheld. One might think that my love of order and logic would lead me to hate these variating creatures, but to many's surprise, such was not the case. I found great joy in analyzing them. Their interests, their looks, their opinions, their choices; they were all fascinating to me. The seemingly endless differences between their world and mine led me to become almost obsessed with comprehending them. I begun writing my observations down, filling notebook upon notebook with commentaries, facts, anything and everything I came across.

As you might have understood, these nearly obsessive tendencies of mine did nothing to normalize my childhood. I was never one to have a lot of friends. The idea of sharing my life shallowly with dozens didn't appeal to me. I wasn't antisocial, not really, I just preferred less company. Despite my introverted nature, however, I gained a friend who would later come to become one of my most loyal and loved companions.

His name was Hideyoshi Nagachika.

Our friendship didn't have the best of beginnings, courtesy of myself I'm afraid, but before long, we were inseparable. I met him by chance when I was six years old, and he had recently turned seven. He was an orphan, rendered as such after a car accident when he was just a toddler. He didn't remember much about his parents, he once told me, only sporadic and unclear images, mostly of smiling faces and loving stares.

But I digress.

Anyways. After rigorous studying of the human species, I came to the conclusion that most of them could be divided into two separate groups: planners and improvisers. Planners are calm, collected, often intelligent. They are the kind of people who would enter a board game knowing every detail about the rules and possible strategies. Execution, of course, is an entirely different matter, but the idea that life should be planned is a "planner's" most prominent trait, as the name suggests.

At first sight, this group might seem like the superior one, but many forget the planners' fatal flaw. With constant planning, comes an almost obsessive will to adhere to the sketch that has been laid out. The thing about life, however, is that it doesn't follow structured blueprints. It twists, bends, and constantly changes shape. An inability to adapt to those changes will lead to nothing but termination.

The second group, the improvisers, aren't weighed down by the stiffness that so often plagues the planners, but despite their noteworthy flexibility, they too have faults. They are freer in their demeanor than the planners, but as always, that freedom comes with a prize. Improvisers have an ofttimes disastrous habit of rushing in unprepared.

You might have noticed that I said that only most humans fit into this seemingly simple classification. Something I've learned time and time again throughout the years is that there are always exceptions. There are always those who differ from the fixed order, who refuse to conform to the set rules, or in some cases, are unable to.

They are the insane, the senile, the abnormalities. Those who have been rejected from society and from the world.

My mother, with whom I lived at the time, was, despite not being a member of the human race, a clear planner. She was meticulous, painstakingly thorough as she devised the courses of action that made up her life. She didn't, as one might expect, fall victim to her determination to adhere to the plans she made, but rather to the plans themselves.

She was left perplexed by my occupation, partly because my personality and demeanor differed so harshly from her own. She, like so many others, rushed through life. Her entire existence had been an escapade. From her family, from the investigators, from debt collectors, from the world. She had made it into an art, refined her skills to near perfection, and I, as her only child, escaped along with her. I was an illegitimate child, conceived through an affair outside of my mother's marriage.

All this fleeing was, as one might expect, not beneficial to her health.

The years wore her down, tired her out. Slowly but oh so surely, she turned bleak and grey; a mere shell of her previous self. I can still remember waking up in the mornings and crawling over to her side of the bed, only to find her so deeply asleep she would have seemed dead. It was only the ever present twitching, a sign of the nightmares she frequently suffered from, that told me that she remained alive, although not entirely well.

My mother and I rarely spent more than half a year in one place; her paranoia didn't allow us to.

We moved around often, more often than would probably be considered healthy for a child of my age. It wasn't until I was six, around the time when I met Hide, that we finally settled down more permanently. After years of running and evading, and begging from me, she decided that if we were going to stay in one place, it would have to be the 20th ward. It was known as the safest of them all, and also the most structured, from a ghoul's perspective.

My mother was well informed after years of collecting knowledge about whatever place we happened to live in. She knew about Anteiku beforehand, of course. Barging in blindly wasn't an option. After the many months of planning that led up to our trip, it felt as though I'd spent years in the 20th. I knew every nook, every corner, had every neighborhood memorized. My mother had made me study every known ghoul in the area; the seemingly benevolent, and more importantly, the malevolent ones.

Knowing of their hunting grounds was crucial. You see, ghouls are very territorial creatures. We protect what we care about, whether it be objects, family, or prey. The act of taking another's property is always punished by the owner, such are the rules. Stumbling into another ghoul's hunting ground could be a fatal mistake, one my mother made sure I would never make in the 20th.

So we prepared, anticipated every possible outcome of our actions, until it seemed like nothing could catch us off guard. She was wrong, of course, and inevitably something didn't go as she expected it to.

The variable which she hadn't included in her calculations was, in fact, herself.

It's all quite ironic now that I look back at it.

It was her descent into illness, a consequence of her paranoia, that in the end led to her death. Well, that and a couple of ghoul investigators.

Ghouls very rarely fall ill, simply because their bodies are more sturdy than humans'. They don't succumb to disease as easily. Additionally, there are few diseases that can take on a ghoul's superior immune system.

As with all creatures, however, malnutrition and stress weakens a ghoul's body, sometimes so much that they are unable to protect themselves. This was what happened in my mother's case.

She was a kind woman, much to caring to cope with her harsh lifestyle. Taking the life of an animal, as humans do to feed, is very different from killing humans. Animals, while sometimes intelligent enough to notice some of the things that surround them, never have an understanding about the concept of life and death. Humans, however, do.

They are individuals, complex creatures with personalities, bonds, thoughts of their own. My mother lacked the ability to numb her emotions and the resolution required to kill people. Despite not having a deep bond with those whose lives she took, it hurt her. By killing others, she was essentially slowly killing herself.

Naturally, this reluctance to hunt led to a chronic undernourishment. I somewhat shared her hatred for violence, but unlike her, I was able to look past it in order to find food. I did my best to sustain her, but I was only six at the time, and no matter how independent I was, I wasn't capable of taking care of both my mother and myself.

Things changed a bit after we moved to the 20th ward. Anteiku took us in almost as soon as we arrived, and for a while I believed everything would turn out fine for her. Her paranoia, which had been a constant part of her life ever since she was a child, subsided noticeably. Proper nourishment and rest allowed her to relax a bit, something I couldn't remember ever seeing her do before.

After a few months, she started to venture the streets again, and even took a job at the Anteiku as a waitress. It wasn't long before she stopped accepting food from them and insisted on hunting for herself; no matter how safe she felt, her deep rooted fears never really left her. I guess she didn't want to have to rely on them any more that necessary.

So she started hunting again, despite the effect it had on her state of mind, and I, as a child, couldn't do much to stop her.

The first couple of times it all went quite smoothly. She had long since mastered the art of covering her tracks as a result of our constant traveling, and she was effective enough to avoid the investigators. Her victims were, as all other thing in her life, carefully picked out. Homeless people with no connections, mourners who had shown previous suicidal tendencies, drunk, accident-prone teenagers. It was all very skillfully executed, and her confidence grew as she gained experience.

However, when after a particularly nasty incident involving a ghoul in the nearby area, more investigators were sent to the 20th ward, her fear reared its ugly head again.

It started subtly, with the return of the habit to constantly look over her shoulder in case anyone was following her, or being prone to whisper in conversations instead of talking in a regular tone. It only escalated from there, but the real problems didn't begin until she decided to start hunting for the both of us, instead of only for herself.

My appetite wasn't by any means extreme, but she was forced to kill almost twice as much as she had previously been. I tried to tell her that it wasn't necessary, that she didn't have to put herself through the stress. The manager at Anteiku did the same, practically begging her to let them continue taking care of me, but it was to no avail. My mother was an extraordinarily stubborn woman when she wanted to be, and our attempts to convince her to change her mind did nothing but strengthen her resolve. She wanted to avoid dependency on Anteiku at any cost, so that if need arose, we would be able to leave at a moment's notice.

The effect that the exertion had on her was palpable; she became exhausted and irritable and her skin would sometimes pale to such a degree that I could clearly see the veins underneath.

The slip-up was unavoidable in her condition; even I saw it coming, despite my inexperience.

It happened on a cold autumn day, when the wind was blowing furiously, making the trees beside the streets bow to the weather. She had woken up with chattering teeth and drooping eyelids, but my hunger was becoming problematic, and thus, when the sun went down, she left our tiny apartment in search for food.

She was in the middle of the act, incapable of escaping in any way, when the investigators found her. They weren't even especially skilled, but my mother was too weak to put up much of a fight, and she was taken down swiftly and silently.

I didn't find out until the next day, when the news channels reported another ghoul incident.

No matter how much I anticipated her death, how much I subconsciously prepared myself to take the blow, it was still a devastating loss.

She might not have been the best of mothers, but she was my mother nonetheless, and I couldn't help but love her. Hide and I had been friends for a couple of months at that time, and I can honestly say that he was the main reason why I managed to pull myself out of the gloomy pit in which I ended up after the incident.

I didn't talk at all during the first few days. I merely wandered the streets aimlessly, narrowly avoiding bumping into the passers by. It wasn't until four days later that I actually processed the consequences of the occurrence.

My mother was irreversibly, undeniably and permanently gone.

I was seven years old, recently orphaned and in a state of shock. Needless to say, I didn't react very well.

The following calamity resulted in the deaths of three people, none of which were deserving of my rampage.

It was in this state that the manager found me; red eyed, grieving and drenched in blood. It was pure luck that I didn't suffer a similar fate as my mother, killed off by investigators. They would no doubt have found me if it hadn't been for the workers at Anteiku. They got rid of the evidence, gave me a roof over my head and, most importantly, company.

For the next three months or so, I closed myself off from my surroundings and from the people in my vicinity. In my solitude, my anger at the investigators grew into a black, boiling mass of animosity, and the increase of surveillance in the 20th ward did nothing to calm my abhorrence. I rarely ventured the streets anymore; I preferred the privacy of my room above the café.

My entire demeanor changed in only half a year. The fascination and enchantment I had previously felt towards humans turned sour. The world, which had once shone in an array of vivid colors, became gray as my perspective shifted.

Despite the café workers' best efforts, I refused to revert back to my old self. Instead I found solace in literature. Novels, poetry, song lyrics, anything that allowed me to forget my grief was swallowed up hungrily by my despairing mind. I could lock myself up in my room for hours at a time, completely submerged in an illusory world.

I would undoubtedly have stayed in that state if it hadn't been for Hide's constant prodding and support. At the time I saw it as nothing but a nuisance, an unnecessary annoyance, but he refused to leave me be, and after a while I felt unable to continue ignoring him. His unbending positivity was what made me realize that there was more to life than the grief I was going through.

I couldn't tell him the truth, of course; he was, no matter how close we were, still a human. I was never very fond of lying, and it pained me to have to deceive him in such a way, but what was I to do? If there was one thing that my mother taught me, it was to be careful. So I fed him half truths and fabricated stories about my background and strange behavior. The version I made him believe was so simple, so carefree that I often wished it was the actual truth.

I told him my father left us when I was just a baby, which happened to actually be the case, and that my mother died in a car accident, which wasn't even close to the real story. As for my home, I explained it by saying that the manager was an old friend of my mother. It was true, in a twisted sense, and that was enough to at least relieve my guilt somewhat.

Things continued in that manner for years, with me working and living at Anteiku and Hide swallowing whatever lie I made up.

I guess I should have suspected something, considering how easily Hide was believing whatever I told him, but I was too immersed in my own happiness to really stop and think about such peculiarities. Instead I smiled and went along with it happily, chronically naive in my ignorance.

Thankfully, my naiveté didn't have any detrimental consequences, but once again I thank luck for being on my side.

Because it turns out Hide wasn't nearly as unaware as I thought him to be. I had clearly been underestimating his intellect, which is in fact rather impressive, might I add, although I didn't realize that until later on. It's a funny thing, how I, who was raised by one of the most unreasonably suspicious people I have ever encountered, let my guard down so far that I forgot what I was and the baggage that came with.

Being a ghoul is more than just the physical attributes. It's a constant state of wariness brought on by the perpetual danger in which we live. Killing humans is something you get used to, no matter how cold that statement sounds. It's something we are forced to do by our carnivorous nature. To some it's a never ending battle agains a relentless conscience, like to my mother for example. Others find enjoyment and gratification in the act of taking life. Many, and I like to include myself in this category, instead choose to see it from a practical perspective. It's a matter of life and death. Eat or perish, as simple as that.

The key is not thinking, not pondering on the consequences that one's actions have on others. Sadly, this is all a lot easier said than done. I vigorously envy those who are capable of not caring; I was never among them.

Though I might not have inherited my mother's unyielding detestation towards the bloodshed that accompanies the life of a ghoul, I am still unable to dull my conscience as much as I would like.

Oh, but pardon my rudeness. Perhaps I should tell you who I am, now that you know my background.

My name is Ken Kaneki; resident in the 20th ward, waiter at Anteiku café, and full blooded ghoul.

 **A.N. I'm looking for a beta to help me out with grammar and such, and also perhaps wording. If you happen to be interested, send me a p.m or tell me in a review. English is my third language, so the dictionary tends to be my best friend when I'm writing. Reviews are highly appreciated : )**


	2. Chapter 1

**Hello again.**

 **As you might have noticed, I won't be updating once a week. I'll update when I'm done with a chapter and I'm happy with the content.**

 **I think I forgot to mention it in the introduction, but in any case.**

 **I don't own Tokyo Ghoul or any of its characters.**

The distant sound of voices engaging in conversation echoed through the hallways above Anteiku café. It bounced against the walls and peeked into the rooms it passed, before continuing its journey of exploration in the building. Most rooms were empty, quiet, but the vivid warmth that the inhabitants left in their wake was present in every inch of the house.

The sound kept going, and soon, behind a lazily closed door, it found company in the form of a boy. He leisurely turned another page in his book and absentmindedly let his eyes travel across the words that were printed in black ink. An eyebrow rose, a barely noticeable reaction to whatever he was reading, but before long it fell, once again smoothed out.

Minuscule particles of dust carelessly blew around in the room, unbothered by the events around them, and equally unbothered was the boy among them. His fingers tapped a steady rhythm on the bed frame, and another page was turned.

With a tired creak, the door slowly swung open. The boy looked up from the book. A woman greeted him while removing her apron. "It's time for your shift down there", she said, and her voice was content as the words reached him. He closed the book and watched how the gust of air blew the dust towards the ceiling. Running a hand through his hair, he dropped the book on the soft covers of the bed and stood up.

"Oh, and Kaneki? Hide's downstairs waiting for you." She flashed him a quick smile before she was off again. Kaneki pulled on an apron, the obligatory uniform of the workers at Anteiku, and left the room. As he made his way down the stairs, he could hear the voices becoming louder. There was clearly quite a crowd at the café; not very unusual considering its popularity. As he walked down the last couple of steps, the counter entered his field of vision.

Touka was standing in the back, masterfully stacking cups in her usual, steadfast manner. On one of the empty chairs sat Hide with a cup of coffee in front of him, attempting to strike up a conversation with Touka. She wasn't responding, but as always, Hide continued brightly chattering about anything that came to mind. He turned in Kaneki's direction as he neared him.

"Hey. I was wondering when you'd come down. Did you get lost in the land of books again?" Kaneki payed him no mind, choosing to instead help Touka stack the cups standing on the counter. His motions were less refined than hers, a sign of her expertise.

"I know you don't particularly love waiting tables, but you're paid to do it, so quit stalling." Her statement was met with a huff of indignation.

"You're making me sound like some kind of slacker. I'm here aren't I?" he said, turning around in mock outrage and grabbing a pen and paper as he left for the tables.

It was a busy day, and Kaneki strolled around, taking order after order. The atmosphere was light, and people were enjoying the last scraps of summer that clung to the trees and the flowery ground. Autumn was coming closer by the day, and the winds had begun to bite at night, as if begging the citizens to wrap scarves around their necks and cover their hands in knitted gloves. The leaves were slowly turning fiery red, only to adorn the ground like a blanket as they fell.

The shift was short, only a couple of hours, and as the crowd began to lessen in the café, Kaneki hung his apron on the wall in his room again. The buzzing of a phone caught his attention.

Wanna meet up outside Anteiku when I'm done studying?

It was from Hide, of course. Not many others had his phone number, and even fewer would be interested in texting him.

Sure. What time?

I'll be there in ten

C you there

Kaneki let the phone drop onto his bed and grabbed the book lying beside him.

_–_

Hide walked briskly down the streets, absently watching the shops he passed by. Most of them were closed, it was Sunday after all, but a few grocery stores and book shops remained open for potential customers, namely the students in the area. He came to a halt outside the ever familiar coffee shop where Kaneki worked.

A bell rung as he entered the shop, alerting the workers of his presence.

"We're about to close for the day" came a voice from the back. "Oh, it's you". Touka's tone held its usual discontentment when she addressed him. No matter how long he had been friends with Kaneki, she continued to distrust him. Kaneki didn't blame her, as expected. She was naturally uneasy around humans, especially those who knew of her status as a ghoul.

"Is Kaneki hiding in the back?" he asked, and showed her one of his habitual smiles.

"He should be. Hey Kaneki!" she shouted, positive that he could hear her despite the walls that separated them. The sound of footsteps reached his ears, promptly followed by Kaneki's appearance.

"Hi. Will you take care of the rest of the cleaning up? I promise I'll do it tomorrow." He was carrying a grey coat in one hand and a hat in the other. Touka sighed, but nodded in agreement.

"Fine, but you owe me."

"A ton" came his reply before he walked out the door.

The pair were greeted by a gust of nipping wind as it pulled at their coats.

"Touka doesn't seem to like me very much" said Hide casually.

"I doubt she ever will, honestly" Kaneki almost flinched at how cold he sounded, but it was the truth. "She may like humans, but she still doesn't trust them. You should have seen when she found out about Nishiki's girlfriend. She actually threatened to kill her if she ever told anyone about us."

Hide didn't respond. They'd had this conversation before, countless times, about Hide's role in Anteiku. "Look," Kaneki turned toward his friend, "I trust you unquestionably, but you have to understand the others. We're ghouls living among humans, it's only natural to be scared. Touka hasn't had an easy life. Her father was killed when she was just a child, and her brother's off who knows where doing who knows what. She's just being protective."

"I know," Hide sighed and continued walking. "I know, but it's so frustrating. I'm trying to prove myself, but how the hell am I supposed to do that? This isn't exactly a very common problem." Kaneki let out a humorless laugh. "I have no idea. I think the only thing you can do is, you know, not tell the investigators."

"Yeah" Hide agreed. "That would be a bit counterproductive, wouldn't it?" Kaneki only nodded amusedly in response.

"Oh, I almost forgot, I have to pick up a mask from Uta's shop later. You wanna come?" Hide looked at his friend with a hint of suspicion.

"Is Uta the creepy guy with loads of tattoos?"

"The one and only" Kaneki replied.

"He freaks me out, you know" said Hide. "The whole thing with dropping hints that he wants to eat me is not nearly as funny as he thinks it is." The seriousness in Hide's expression was enough to make Kaneki smile.

"You're just seeing it from the wrong perspective. He's told me the same thing, but I know he'd never do it. It's the same with you. You're just panicky 'cause he looks all dark and dangerous."

Hide huffed in indignation. "I am not 'panicky'. I'm just a little creeped out. And what normal person makes disturbingly macabre masks for a living?"

"Who ever said he was normal? And he's damn good at making masks. Can you imagine him working as a baker, for example? That would just be wrong."

Hide thought for a second, visualizing Uta, with his black eyes and piercings, merrily handing loafs of bread to a customer. "Ok you're right. I prefer him as a mask maker."

"Exactly"

They took a left, beginning to dive deeper into the city's depths. Students, at least those who weren't involved in anything shady, rarely visited the darker corners of the 20th ward. They usually stayed on the larger streets, with the welcoming shops and flowery parks. Hide was a prime example. He barely ever ventured into the city's gloomier interior, where ghouls thrived in comparison to their hidden lives in the light. The only times he'd been there had been with Kaneki, and even so, he was seldom invited to join his friend on anything ghoul related.

The streets were getting narrower, the stairs were getting steeper, and on a few occasions they had to pass under a building that looked as though it might fall any second and crush them. Hide felt the nervousness creep onto him, settling in his stomach and making his heart beat like a sped up metronome. A cat brushed by his leg, and he almost jumped in surprise and fright, but Kaneki's silencing hush was enough to keep him going.

Another set of stairs, another street that felt more like a cramped hallway, and they finally reached the shop. It was small, inconspicuous below the looming buildings that shielded it like an eagle guarding its young.

The name, HySy Artmask Studio, was painted on the wall beside the door. Hinges creaked as Kaneki pushed the door open and stepped into the overcast interior. The floor was checkered, and Hide couldn't help but feel like a piece on a giant's chess board. The masks that adorned the walls stared at him with their hollow eyes as he cautiously made his way through the shop.

"Oh, look who's here"

The voice was enough to elicit a yelp from Hide, who took a instinctive step back.

"We're here for the mask that was ordered. The one for Hinami" It was Kaneki who had spoken, in the mellow voice he often used when discussing anything ghoul-related.

"Well then. I should have it here in the back somewhere." He turned around and began to walk further into the shop. His position allowed Hide to clearly see the many tattoos that were etched into the ghoul's skin, snaking their way over his body like shadows. It was probably intentional; Uta was strangely fond of making people uncomfortable.

"Don't just stand there, come in" said Uta from further into the studio. "I have coffee if you want some, and food of course – ah, here it is"

He strolled back out with a cardboard box in his hands, chewing on something that Hide didn't want to think about.

"I wanted to make something with butterflies, since she said she liked those, but I was a bit short on materials. Turns out leather works great for making wings."

He picked up the mask from the box. At first it was difficult to see much in the dark lighting, but when he placed it under a lamp on the desk, Hide could clearly see the piece. It was small, fitted for the face of a young child. Wings of leather protruded from its center, adorned with woven in feathers. It was painted with a multitude of dark reds and browns to fit the leather's natural coloring, and the material made it seem almost alive.

Although Uta creeped Hide out, the student had to admit that Kaneki was right. Uta was damn good at making masks.

"It's gorgeous" came Kaneki's voice from beside him. Uta smiled in response.

"Glad you like it. I hope Hinami does too; it took a lot of work to make it." Kaneki held back a snort.

"She'll love it. She's been begging to get a mask ever since she saw Touka's a few weeks ago."

"You're hopefully right. Do you need any work done on yours? I know you tend to wear it out pretty quickly."

"Nah, I'm fine. I washed it a while ago, so it should be all right. I'll come by again if I need anything though."

Uta put the mask back in its box and closed the lid. "Are you leaving already?" He asked.

"I'm afraid so, I think Hide's had enough trauma for one day."

"Pity, but oh well. I'll come by Anteiku soon to see how the mask fits Hinami."

Kaneki picked up the box and said a quick goodbye before leaving the shop, with Hide following close behind.

_–_

It was later that day that it began to rain.

Raindrops fell like liquid drums from the sky, beating the ground and the people below mercilessly. The water ran in miniature floods down the streets and fell with a hollow echo onto the roofs. People were hiding in doorways, bowing in pairs under umbrellas and covering their heads with jackets.

From the glass windows in the CCG building, Amon Koutaro could see the downpour cleanse the city and its inhabitants. He had always liked the rain, the way the beating rhythm allowed him to forget about his troubles and concerns. Many found it annoying, how the cold would seep through clothes and etch itself onto the skin until dried off, but to Amon the cold was refreshing, like a cool shower after a stressful day.

And today had no doubt been stressful.

The 20th ward was arguably the calmest of them all, and although that meant safety for the citizens and less ghoul activity to worry about, it made the investigators careless. The higher ranking inspectors were professional, of course. Rank was something that wasn't given without motivation in the CCG. It was the lower ranking ones that were the problem. Their inexperience turned into sloppiness and their senses became dull after the many months of inactiveness.

He had just sat through a meeting, an entire two hours, of listening to younger officers raving about the danger that the newest threats presented. Both the Binge Eater and Jason of the 13th ward were currently in the 20th, wreaking havoc, as was their custom. Both were indeed formidable foes; S-ranked ghouls were no joke, but the way the staff of the CCG was acting was unprofessional and, frankly, shameful for people in their position.

Amon was pulled from his musings by an authoritative voice behind him.

"We still have a report due on Monday. If we finish it today, we'll have time to meet the new staff member at the research department."

He turned around and found himself standing face to face with his latest partner. It was strange, e thought, how a person could have such a small frame and still fill an entire room with just their presence. Perhaps it had something to do with being the daughter of Kureo Mado.

"I'll finish the report tomorrow morning. I'm heading out for dinner, and it's not a lot of fun going alone. Would you care to join?"

Amon knew his behavior could be interpreted as flirtatious, but he was fairly sure Akira wasn't reading it as such. He had no romantic intentions, so there wasn't much to read anyway. He was merely attempting to form at least the beginnings of a friendship with the person he currently spent the most time with out of all his colleagues.

Akira glanced down at her watch with an impassive look on her face, but Amon had a feeling she was internally contemplating her options.

"It's twenty past eight, so I guess it can't hurt"

Amon couldn't help the slight sense of victory that sparked in his stomach. She had been almost methodically refusing all his invitations to join him for dinner ever since they started working together, and he somehow though of it as a milestone, however unimportant, that she had finally decided to accept.

The tension during the walk to the small restaurant was palpable. The kind that makes its presence known no matter how hard one tries to ignore it. Akira was ignoring him in the dignified way that he suspected only she could really pull off. Amon was walking beside her, itching to say something just to break the silence, but unable to think of something adequate to say.

They ended up staying quiet until they reached the restaurant.

The chef greeted them as they entered, like he did to all frequent customers. Amon gave him a half hearted hello and sat down on one of the empty bar stools by the counter. Akira did the same, although somewhat hesitantly, no doubt assessing her surroundings as she went.

They both sunk into the comfortable environment in the restaurant, lulled by the scent of food and distant sound of cars outside.

Their food arrived and was eaten in silence, much to Amon's growing frustration.

"So–" he began, but the words died in his throat.

"So, what?" Akira inquired. Her voice was amused, more so than was usual for her. Amon glanced in her direction, curious about what had caused her change of demeanor. The answer, he noticed, came in the form of three empty glasses in front of her. Now that he looked a little closer, her cheeks held a slight pinkish hue, and her eyes were partly closed.

"So," he tried again, opting for smalltalk, "when did you decide that you wanted to be an investigator?" She raised an eyebrow and looked at him almost accusingly.

"It was never much of a choice, considering who my father is–was. I would probably have wanted to become one anyway."

Amon only hummed in response, not sure what so say.

"You're very good at your job, you know."

Amon turned to look at Akira's half lidded profile, not sure if he was to feel surprised or complimented.

"It's a pity you aren't a little better; perhaps you could have gotten there in time to help my dad."

A pregnant pause followed. Amon let the previous guilt course through him, unchained. He had never really thought, he realized, about how Mado's death must have affected Akira; he had been much too submerged in his own distress to consider her's.

"I'm sorry."

The apology sounded half hearted, even to himself. But what could he say? She was completely right, after all.

It was his own weakness, his own inability to get past the Eyepatch ghoul that had led to his partner's demise. Had he only gotten to the site a few minutes earlier, he would have been able to help Mado, save him, even.

"I don't want you pity, never have. But know this. I hold you accountable for my father's death, and I will never forgive you for your incompetence."

Amon sat in silence, letting her words sink in. They hurt, there was no use in denying it. What had he been expecting? For her to just brush it off and forgive him? No. That wasn't realistic, and neither did he want it. She was strong, of both mind and body, and her stubbornness was unbending. That was what made her such a skilled investigator.

"I regret my actions on that day, I always will. What's done is done, but I swear, on my pride as an inspector, I will never let anyone else get killed by the ghouls. I will kill every single one of them, even if it's the last thing I do."

By the end on his speech, Amon was standing up, his chair laying sideways and forgotten behind him. The chatter in the restaurant had quieted, and he could feel their stares on him. Akira was still looking straight ahead, seemingly uninterested in his outburst.

After a minute he sat down, somewhat flustered, and people once again turned their attention to their food and company. He picked his chair back up and sat down in front of the counter. He let the silence linger for a minute or two, before he turned toward Akira to start some sort of conversation.

But she was clearly unable to speak, as she was sound asleep, with her head resting on folded arms.

Amon shook her lightly, attempting to get her to wake up again, but it was no use. She was slumbering deeply, still with a rosy tint on her cheeks. So after thanking the chef for the food and paying for both of their meals he gently, as to not disturb her, lifted her up and carried her out of the restaurant.

Once on the street, he signaled for a taxi and let them be driven off to Akira's home. Amon watched the cars drive by from his seat beside the unconscious Akira. He looked at the seemingly endless streetlights they passed, like flytraps lined up beside the road.

The rain had stopped, he noticed, sometime earlier in the evening. The streets were still drenched, and the trees were dripping water on the pedestrians below, as if to remind people of the weather's eternal fickleness.

Akira's apartment building was large, at least eight floors tall. The light from the many windows shone welcomingly, and Amon felt warmth envelop them as they entered. After an uncomfortable ride in a claustrophobically small elevator, he found her apartment.

With difficulty, he fished up Akira's key from her purse and turned it in the lock. The door shut behind him as he entered, and he let a hand wander over the wall, searching for a light switch. He found it after a moment, and looked around the room.

It was spotlessly clean. Every surface was clear, except for the table where an array of reports were spread out.

Amon laid Akira down carefully on her bed, watching the bedspread wrinkle around her small frame. With her shoes still on, her makeup intact, and her purse resting beside her on the bed, he left the bedroom.

The lock clicked shut behind him as he left.

 **A.N. That's another chapter done. Please leave a review and tell me what you think.**

 **As I mentioned in the introduction, I'm looking for a beta, so if anyone feels particularly motivated, just send me a pm or tell me in a review.**


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